


More Than Meets the Eye

by JamieS1025



Series: The Devil Wears Prada [2]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fashion & Models, Assistant Yuri, Assistant Yuuri, Chief and Editor Viktor, Fashion & Couture, Flustered Katsuki Yuuri, Inspired by The Devil Wears Prada, M/M, Runway Magazine, Viktor wears what he wants too
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-11
Updated: 2018-06-11
Packaged: 2019-05-21 02:04:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14906336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JamieS1025/pseuds/JamieS1025
Summary: Viktor does what he wants.Yuuri can't breathe.And Yuri is just done with their shit already.





	More Than Meets the Eye

Yuuri survived his first day at the office by a sheer act of God. Later, when he flops down on his couch with four missed calls and ten unopened text messages from Phichit, Yuuri simply locks his phone and curls up for sleep, too tired from his emotional roller coaster of a day to even care.

When he wakes up to the shrill sound of a phone ringing many hours later, Yuuri realizes he may be living in hell. Little Yuri is flashing across the screen and Yuuri hurries to answer it.

“Hope you’re ready for the day,” Yuri states in greeting and begins to ramble off a complex Starbucks order and destination planning for approximately three stops for a designer clothing pick-up. Yuuri fumbles to gather his notebook and jot down the instructions. The driver will pick him up in approximately fifteen minutes. Yuuri glances down at his rumpled clothing from last night. “And don’t be late.” The line clicks dead again.

Yuuri barely has enough time to change his clothes, brush his hair and teeth, and yell a hurried goodbye to Phichit in the kitchen before he is bounding down the stairs to the street.

After completing all the required errands, Yuuri returns to the office with his arms loaded with expensive clothing and multiple non-fat, sugar-free lattes. Yuri jumps at him as soon as he enters the double glass doors.

“Where the fuck have you been? I have to pee!”

Yuuri blinks and sets the lattes on his desk. “You haven’t left the desk since this morning?”

Yuri throws the clothing bags onto a rack by his own desk. “No, no one leaves the desk. Viktor does not like clients to go to voicemail. If someone calls, you answer.”

“Oh, that seems …unrealistic,” Yuuri comments.

“Listen pig, that’s how it works. The last assistant missed a call from Valentino before he boarded a seventeen-hour flight. You don’t see him working here anymore, do you?”

Yuuri hums. He supposes he cannot disagree with that.

Another man enters through the double glass doors, face stoic. He is dressed in tight-fitting skinny jeans and a grey sweater with a designer Channel scarf wrapped expertly around his neck. His hair is cut into a noticeable undercut. The man spares Yuuri a once-over, asking “Is this him?”

“Yup,” Yuri chirps in response and greets the man with a chaste peck on the lips. “No idea what Viktor was thinking on this one. Are you ready?”

The man nods, one arm wrapping around the blonde’s waist.

“Yuuri, Beka and I are going to lunch. I get twenty minutes and you get fifteen. When we come back, you can go,” Yuri explains.

To the couple’s surprise, Yuuri steps forward with a shy smile, holding out a hand to Otabek. “I don’t think we have met, I’m Yuuri.”

Otabek returns the shake. “Otabek. I usually got by Beka around here thanks to this Yuri.” He nods to the little blonde still caught in his arms. “I work in photography.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” Yuuri replies.

“Likewise.”

“Right,” Yuri interrupts. “This is weird. Stop being so nice. It’ll freak people out.” Yuri throws Yuuri a disgusted look as he ushers his boyfriend from the room. “Answer the phones and don’t fuck up your first time alone.”

It requires a deep breath to get Yuuri back into his correct headspace and returning to his desk. He plops down in his seat and picks at the bottom of his sweater. The absent thought of perhaps shopping for new clothing would be appreciated at his new job, but he quickly tosses the thought aside. He was not going to change himself for a silly little fashion magazine.

“Yuuri.”

Yuuri is startled from his daydreaming as the heavy Russian accent floats from within his office. Yuuri scrambles to his feet, snagging a notebook in the rush before bounding into the open office. When his eyes catch on his boss, Yuuri freezes, mouth suddenly dry.

Viktor is leaning up against the side of his desk, palms resting behind him to support the position. His hair has been braided expertly over one shoulder. One bare shoulder. Yuuri recognizes the causal black Ralph Lauren dress from his pick-up yesterday, but he had never imaged that it would have been for his boss. As Viktor shifts to look over at his new assistant, the side slit of the dress falls open to reveal black thigh-high Italian leather boots.

Yuuri suddenly forgets how to breathe.

“Yuuri?”

A blush spreads across his cheeks. “U-uh, yeah, I-I’m here. What’s up?” Yuuri cringes. Could he sound any more like a hormonal teenager?

Viktor’s eyes meet his own, lips tugging in a small smirk. “I don’t like to repeat myself. Call Marc Jacobs. I want his new collection. Don’t let him tell you no.”

“Right, yes, of course,” Yuuri responds.

The design team pulls Viktor’s attention back to the sample dressing the have been working on. Chris is holding up two blue belts, looking between them. “I’m not sure which one to pick,” he announces honestly.

“They are just so different,” Sara, the Italian girl from purchasing comments.

Yuuri snorts, immediately trying to hide the action behind his hand.

“Is something funny?” Viktor’s cool voice questions. Yuuri can feel the heat returning to his cheeks.

“Well, um, no. They just look exactly the same to me.”

Viktor pushes off his desk and moves gracefully to pluck one of the belts from Chris. “Alright, so you think this has nothing to do with you,” he states, sounding exhausted. He approaches Sara and the dress she is holding out on a hanger, wrapping the expensive leather around the waist. “You wake up and throw on the lumpy blue sweater because you are trying to tell the world you take yourself too seriously to care about how you look,” Viktor states, taking a step back to admire his work. “But what you do not know is that that sweater is not just blue. It’s not turquoise or lapis. It’s actually cerulean.”

“Like your eyes,” Yuuri blurts.

Said eyes meet his own again and Yuuri realizes how screwed he really is. He almost wants to face-palm himself.

“Like my eyes,” Viktor repeats, amused, snapping his fingers over at the other design team member, Michele, who somehow knows that means to hand over one of the jackets from the rack. “But, you are so unaware of the fact the Oscar de la Renta did a collection in 2002 of cerulean gowns, and then Yves Saint Laurent who did the cerulean military jackets,” Viktor pauses, wrapping the jacket around the hanger absentmindedly before turning back around to face Yuuri. “All of these filtered down to where you no doubt picked it up. However, that blue represents millions of dollars and countless jobs. It’s sort of funny how you think your choice exempts you from the fashion world, when, in fact, you’re wearing a sweater that was selected for you by the people in this room.”

“Viktor…” Yuuri tries.

The silver-haired man merely takes a seat in his office chair, crossing his right over his left. He turns the chair to face his design team and waves his hand in Yuuri’s direction.

“That’s all,” he states, simple and to the point.

Yuuri slumps away in retreat, sliding into his own desk chair with an audible sigh. Yuri has returned and is staring at him from his own desk.

“Are you a fucking idiot?” he asks.

“Apparently,” Yuuri returns.

The little blonde rolls his eyes and returns to typing something on his computer. Yuuri thinks back to the previous encounter, groaning at his behavior lightly. A sudden thought tugs at his mind.

“Yuri, does Viktor wear dresses a lot?”

The blonde gives him a look. “Viktor wears whatever the fuck he wants. Why? You got a problem with it?”

The blush has returned full force to Yuuri’s cheeks and he attempts to clear his throat to lessen the sudden dryness he feels. “N-No, not at all. I was just wondering. He, uh, he looks good.”

Yuri groans, “Really? You fucking have the hots for the boss? That’s so cliché.”

“No!” Yuuri shouts, slamming a hand over his mouth. He attempts to peek around his desk to see if he had disrupted the meeting, but when no indication is made, whispers, “He’s just… pretty. In the general. T-The dress is… nice. Good. Great.”

Yuri opens his mouth to retort but stops, eyes darting to the side. Yuuri follows his gaze and immediately regrets the decision as his eyes meet familiar cerulean. Viktor is standing at the doorway to his office, smiling a tiny knowing smile, head tilted to accentuate his long neck. He reaches out on both sides of him to grasp the double-French doors, shutting them without a single comment. And because they are glass, Yuuri can watch Viktor’s eyes on him the entire time before his boss returns to his work.

Yuuri almost wants to bang his head into his desk.

"You're pathetic," Yuri states and Yuuri cannot help up silently agree. 


End file.
